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“Don’t trust me to stay on brand?”
The abrupt change in conversation threw me for a moment and I replied more aggressively than normal. “I’m sure you will but as it’s my ass on the line, I’d feel better to lay eyes on them for myself.”
“Can you not tell from the set that we’re on brand?”
“Sure.” I shrugged, reminding myself to keep it professional. Professional, ha! Maybe Nora should have kept it professional. “I set it up. I want to see how it looks in print.”
“In print.”
I rolled my wrist, turning my finger in circles. “In digital. In stills.”
Lining up his lenses, he ran his fingertips over each, his lips moving minutely as he checked off what he needed for the day.
I watched his lips, mesmerized. Framed deliciously with dark stubble. A glimpse of strong, white teeth. My eyes grew heavy wondering how he would taste. Feel.
I tilted my head to the side as my eyes wandered around his face. My palms itched to palm those stubbled cheeks, run my thumbs along his sharp cheekbones, tunnel my fingers into his thick, black hair. Press my forehead against the grey dusting his temples.
Was it soft?
I rubbed my palms down the sides of my hips and twisted the material of my skirt between my hungry fingers.
What would it take to make him laugh?
Make him look at me the way he looked through his camera?
Without his camera, he was a ghost of his real self.
Eyes scanning his set up, he pressed his beautiful lips together, tapped the table with his knuckles, and murmured low, “After.”
“After?” My voice came out breathy. Unsure. That would not do.
“After,” he confirmed briskly, turning away without sparing me a glance.
I shook myself from my foolish mental revelry and demanded, “After what?”
He looked at me over his shoulder before slowly turning back around, his lips quirking, black eyes alight.
Heat flushed my cheeks. My fingers tightened in my skirt.
He was beautiful when he was broody but with a smile threatening his lips, he shone. If he broke out a full grin, I might expire.
“You asked me if I wanted to meet before or after. I want to meet after.”
My brain sluggishly sorted through each word formed by his beautiful lips until their meaning sunk in.
After! We would meet after I exercised! Frig!
I shook my head to clear it. “Right. I knew that. It’s just that we got off topic. And I forgot what I asked. For a minute. A moment.” I sounded like a flake. “Not that I forgot, I just forgot theexact wordsI used so when you said ‘after’ it didn’t make sense.” I paused and, for some reason, deepened my voice. “Out of context.”
He continued to stare at me, his right eyebrow lifting.
In question?
I nodded my head and waved my hands like a dashboard hula dancer. I’d always wanted to try that. Hula dancing.
“I asked you before or after, you started talking about dancing and trust and what kind of question is that anyways?” Irritation threaded through my runaway brain. Why the hell was I explaining myself to him? “It’s not a matter of trust, it’s a matter of vision.” I laughed. “It’s not like we’ve ever seen eye-to-eye, you and I go head-to-head, balls to the wall. Your balls on one wall, mine on another…”
His mouth dropped open.
